Last July, my friends and I gathered at a local restaurant to celebrate my birthday. We reserved two large tables which unfortunately, separated the group. Early in the evening, I noticed one of our servers and thought he was attractive. It was nearly impossible to miss him as he stood almost seven feet tall. Retreating back to my junior high school self, I sent a couple of texts messages to a few girls at the opposite table, encouraging them to inquire if he was single. He, Jonathan, was. I asked them to prod him for his evening plans, asking him to join us later if able. Yes, I was pimping myself out via text message. Classy, I know.
Once we finish dinner, our crowd disperses. The other server approaches me and requests my number to give to Jonathan. I oblige. As we exit the restaurant, I introduce myself to him. I felt like an Oompa Loompa despite wearing unusually high heels. In this moment, I also learn he is left-handed with puppy-dog eyes. I’ve always been a sucker for eyes with a quality of sadness.
Jonathan and me in July of ’08.
Yes, he really is a foot and eight inches taller than me.